cultural translation of the gospel

In seminary, I was part of a program that was a partnership between The Newbigin House of Studies and Western Theological Seminary that focused on urban church planting. During the course of my studies, there was a work that was central to our program: The Ephesian Moment. It’s an essay/chapter in The Cross-Cultural Process in Christian History by Andrew F. Walls (pp. 72-81). For those of us that were deeply involved in city/urban churches, we leaned upon the structure that Walls articulates and champions: diversity expands and enriches our understanding of God and the gospel. Walls explains how important and critical it was for the Jewish and Hellenistic followers of Jesus to recognize that they were together part of the revelation of God’s church. For us who were naturally engaged in this work in our pluralistic cities, it was a kind of validation.

So I was delighted to learn that my work place also centers this essay in how they understand faith expression in the city. It shows up prominently in their curriculum. It is front and center as you enter the building (literally, there’s a giant quote printed on the wall). It is also displayed on one of the major panels in their library/common space. In case you aren’t familiar (and don’t want to read the linked PDF I found online), let me try to give a quick summary of how I’ve usually heard the The Ephesian Moment explained and applied (it’s a rich essay and there are many angles) before I highlight a less attended aspect of the work and share some personal insights.

a brief summary…

While this essay/chapter is rich with implications, the most common application of the essay is for various cultural expressions of the faith to celebrate one another rather than oppose one another. Walls explains that in Ephesus, Greek culture brought different questions and epistemological frameworks upon reality in contrast to the Jewish context from which Christianity came. These differences brought new contours of understanding the faith that would not have risen in its original context.

In Ephesians 2 and 3, Paul writes about those who were near and far, circumcised and uncircumcised, coming together “so that through the church the wisdom of God in its rich variety might now be made known.”^[1] Walls’s commentary on the Ephesian church is that both of these groups needed one another to see God more fully. Each group brought a perspective that ultimately benefitted the whole.

To buttress this idea, Walls cites the author of Hebrews who writes about the great cloud of witnesses (past exemplars of faith), saying “that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect,”^[2] and expands on it. Walls explains that this diversity is not limited to the ethnic or cultural; it also includes time. Thus, just as Abraham and all the saints of Hebrews 11 were waiting for the expression of the promise in the early church community that received the book of Hebrews, they were also waiting for us today in the present church. Because of this, according to Walls, the church ought to celebrate diversity; different cultures across time and space, connected together to form one body.

This captures how The Ephesian Moment is most often applied; we celebrate diversity. We long to see some manifestation of a “great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages.”^[3] But there is another aspect of Walls essay that I hear less about and I think it has profound implications for the church today.

another aspect of this moment…

In the latter third of his essay (bottom of p. 78 and on), Walls speaks about a more basic/foundational aspect of cultural translation: that the very terms and concepts we use to communicate the faith are culturally dependent. He explains that the Jewish title of Messiah did not mean anything to Greek-speaking Gentiles. To communicate the significance of Jesus to the Greeks, they employed another term for Jesus: Kyrios, which means, “Lord.” This term was commonly used to refer to local cult divinities, but it was a term that the Gentiles knew and understood. While this term lacked the rich historical and scriptural ties to the Jewish biblical narrative, kyrios properly communicated the authority and power of Jesus to the Greek world. (79) The term also brought to the surface different aspects of God such that “the transposition was enriching without being distorting.” (80)

Furthermore, Walls shares about how Greek thought required defining the relationship between Jesus and God in more abstract terms. To say that Jesus was “at the right hand of God” was sufficient for Jewish thought to communicate the power and authority of the Son, but not for Greeks. The Greek understanding of reality sought to articulate the “essence” or “nature” of reality (think Plato’s forms). Thus the language of ousia and hypostasis entered Christian dialog which ultimately became central to the doctrine of the Trinity.

As I understand Walls’s explanation, affirming the ousia of Jesus and the hypostatic union did not demote or negate the salvific narrative arc of the Hebrew scriptures; one wasn’t “more true” than the other nor is one more “advanced” knowledge than the other. These Greek ideas were just more culturally relevant to Hellenistic society, and they became an entry point to knowing God that addressed the existing paradigms of knowledge and opened the way to knowing God as expressed in the scriptures. Without translating the faith into terms the Greek could accept, they would have never come to know and understand the Messiah. Likewise, without this translation, the first Christians would not have articulated the idea of the Trinity; they, too, benefitted.

I suspect that if Paul and other missionary-church-planters only pushed the Jewish paradigms of knowledge upon the prevalent Hellenistic culture, the people would have immediately rejected the gospel as irrelevant and disconnected with their understanding of reality. It is because of Paul’s cultural translation of the gospel into Greek thought that the faith was able to spread throughout the Roman empire as a way of life that mattered.

We as members of Western society have a rich inheritance in this way of thinking and can trace our paradigms of reality back to Greek thought. Yet we, like the early church, must continue the work of cultural translation or the message of the gospel will be received as irrelevant and disconnected with our present realities.

cultural translation today?

I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the church is not connecting well with society at large. Today’s church and its leaders are not “held in high esteem”^[4] by the general public. What would it look like to do the work of cultural translation today?

This is a big question; it’s tricky and there are dangers to attend to. It’s near impossible to make any claim or proposal that could be universally (or even broadly) applicable so I will have to limit my engagement to my own experience: East Asian ethnic churches with a slightly conservative bent in East Coast urban cities. These churches tend to be a mix of the reformed and baptist traditions due in part to their church’s denominational affiliation but strongly affected by the intermingling of its members with the dominant culture.^[5]

two questions…

When I imagine the Ephesian Moment today, I need to ask and reflect on two questions: (1) What do I hold dear in my faith that may be a hindrance to the culture today? and (2) How does our culture know and what does it value?

epistemological idols

When I think back to the Ephesian Moment, I imagine what a challenge it was for the Jewish believer to receive these new ideas coming into their faith. The longing of their people for generations was for the Messiah. It was the central to the story they lived in. For this narrative to be de-centered from their faith and life, replaced with language that seemed so abstract and clinical — used for foreign deities no less — would have been gut-wrenching. For generations and generations, they were called to remember God’s act of liberation, not merely as a story that happened to their ancestors, but one that is presently happening for them!^[6] How could they decenter what their ancestors had affirmed for generations?

Furthermore, their sacred story seemed to be replaced with something blasphemous! The Jewish people have always proclaimed the Shema: the LORD is one^[7], connecting their present day faith with that of their ancestors. But these new Greek terms of ousias and hypostasis^[8] seemed to confuse the one-ness of God. Is he one, or is he three? These ideas would have struck at the very heart of their belief and proclamation.

In my tradition, we hold theological proficiency in high regard. I can comfortably say that Asian American cultural emphasis on education resonates well with heady traditions that are concerned with theological precision. We celebrate definitions and systematic understandings of God. In many ways, we are epistemological descendants of Greek abstract thought. Such study of God is endlessly wonderful as Spurgeon once celebrated,^[9] but it can also become an idol — something hard and unmoving that we elevate and wield against others. It’s impossible to count how many times I’ve measured my faith by my knowledge and grasp of doctrines or heard people express inadequacy for faithful living or service in the church because they did not have all their theological ducks in a row.

So I wonder what it would look like to lay aside our insistence on intellectual knowledge as the way to know God and consider other ways of knowing that are carrying more weight today. Perhaps the prospect might even sound blasphemous — how could anything be more important than our theological understanding?! But my experience in the church is that even those who have robust theological knowledge and understanding, intellect doesn’t always translate into Christlikeness.

new but old

In my coffee conversations with those who have left the church, I’ve learned that their reasons for leaving are varied, but rarely is it (as some often accuse) because they merely want to “do what they want” or “live in sin.” Some have experienced deep hurt and have experienced shame in their former faith communities; they felt the need to retreat to safer spaces. Others have left because they became disillusioned or frustrated with a church that could not admit their own errors: an abuse scandal, racism and implicit bias in its structures and practices, a lack of transparency amongst leaders — a need to save face at all costs. They perceived many public apologies as performative acts; ways to relieve social pressure but not any reorientation toward substantive change.

If I could somehow synthesize much of the concerns and complaints I’ve heard (and share) about the church, it seems as though the church is unable to see and be honest with itself. Leaders, eager to maintain an aura of stability and order, project an image of who they think they should be rather than honest with who they are, and this often blocks any path to change. Furthermore, the culture of our churches seem to reinforce the same false idea of leadership; we expect our leaders to be “above reproach” in a way that is superhuman. Leaders feel that and try to perform and a vicious cycle ensues. It’s painfully clear to many of us that the projected image by the church and reality are not aligned.

Our churches also seem resistant to change. While society is moving forward to expose racism, injustice, and systemic oppression, it seems as though churches are slow to recognize their part in these issues.^[10] It seems like its too much for our churches to recognize and admit that they have played into a self-preserving narrative. While it teaches others to repent, it is slow to repent of its own sins. Without that recognition, change is impossible and people bear the burden and hurt from that lack.

To a church that has put theology and belief first and has often taught that “the heart is deceitful above all things,” bringing the “subjective” knowledge from the body and emotions may not be welcome.^[11] But communities outside the church have learned how to pay attention to their emotions and the inner life even if the modern church has put it aside; they’ve learned how to know from their bodies. As Bessel A. van der Kolk would tell us, our bodies “keep score,” and being aware of our stories and experiences leads to a more wholistic understanding of ourselves enabling us to respond, rather than react to others. My participation in these communities ultimately resulted not in a habit of perpetual navel gazing, but in a more compassionate way of caring for others. In so many ways, bringing all of myself rather than just my intellectual self (as successful as I was in doing so in my church spaces, I ultimately found it lacking) showed me a different way to live out the faith.

Emotional health and somatic knowledge were new to me and my faith experience but as I began to explore them deeper, I found they were not new to faith. I learned that there are facets of the church that have maintained contemplation and self-knowledge as integral to Christ-likeness. They did not idolize one aspect of being over another. The church did not always call people to segment themselves. In my own story, looking for wholeness led me back to faith that was more beautiful and wholesome.

A similar thing happened to some other friends — good and constant conversation partners I’ve had in life and faith. They were learning to love all of themselves fully. They were striving to be good and compassionate neighbors, learning to listen and pay attention to others rather than impose their own values or beliefs. This was part of the healing process for the wounds they sustained from the church. In the process God was finding them in their pursuit of wholeness.

A new friend I made in my journey in the past year reflected on the church with this question: “What if the church became a place where people could heal?” and he continued, “What if the church became known as a place where people could find their whole selves?” The church has a rich history of bringing in and receiving others. A church that is emotionally healthy and aware of its own tendencies and weaknesses — that’s a faith that my culture would find to be relevant and good. It is a kind of knowledge that we know and understand.

This would mean practicing the faith or “sharing the faith” would not come first with doctrinal beliefs that we could articulate in words and ideas, but would come as theology that is communicated in being. We would be people who pursue wholeness, who are quick to admit our faults and seek to repair relationships. It would be my hope, since I come from a background that is more doctrinal, that those who come to “taste and see” that the LORD is good will eventually come to know the expression of faith that I grew up learning and receiving (just as the Gentiles, like me!, came to understand Jesus as the Messiah), for we need one another to know and experience the manifold wisdom of God on display through the church.